Sidor som bilder

The shepheard ware a sheepe-gray cloke,
Which was of the finest loke,

That could be cut with sheere:

His mittens were of bauzens skinne,
His cockers were of cordiwin,

His hood of meniveere.

His aule and lingell in a thong,
His tar-boxe on his broad belt hong,
His breech of coyntrie blewe:
Full crispe and curled were his lockes,
His browes as white as Albion rocks:
So like a lover true,

And pyping still he spent the day,

So merry as the popingay;

Which liked Dowsabel:

That would she ought, or would she nought,

This lad would never from her thought;

She in love-longing fell.

At length she tucked up her frocke,
White as a lilly was her smocke,
She drew the shepheard nye;

But then the shepheard pyp'd a good,
That all his sheepe forsooke their foode,
To heare his melodye.

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Thy sheepe, quoth she, cannot be leane,

That have a jolly shepheards swayne,
The which can pipe so well:


Yea but, sayth he, their shepheard may,
If pyping thus he pine away,

In love of Dowsabel.

Of love, fond boy, take thou no keepe,
Quoth she; looke thou unto thy sheepe,
Lest they should hap to stray.


Quoth he, So had I done full well,
Had I not seen fayre Dowsabell
Come forth to gather maye.

With that she gan to vaile her head,
Her cheeks were like the roses red,

But not a word she sayd:


With that the shepheard gan to frowne,
He threw his pretie pypes adowne,


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With that she bent her snow-white knee,


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The Farewell to Love.

From Beaumont and Fletcher's play, entitled The Lover's Progress, act iii. sc. 1.

ADIEU, fond love, farewell you wanton powers;

I am free again.

Thou dull disease of bloud and idle hours,
Bewitching pain,

Fly to fools, that sigh away their time:

My nobler love to heaven doth climb,

And there behold beauty still young,

That time can ne'er corrupt, nor death destroy,

Immortal sweetness by fair angels sung,

And honoured by eternity and joy:

There lies my love, thither my hopes aspire,

Fond love declines, this heavenly love grows higher.


Wysses and the Syren,



AFFORDS a pretty poetical contest between Pleasure and Honour. It is found at the end of "Hymen's Triumph: a pastoral tragi-comedie," written by Daniel, and printed among his works, 4to. 16231. Daniel, who was a contemporary of Drayton's, and is said to have been poet-laureate to Queen Elizabeth, was born in 1562, and died in 1619. Anne, Countess of Dorset, Pembroke, and Montgomery, (to whom Daniel had been tutor,) has inserted a small portrait of him in a full length picture of herself, preserved at Appleby Castle, in Cumberland.

This little poem is the rather selected for a specimen of Daniel's poetic powers, as it is omitted in the later edition of his works, 2 vols. 12mo. 1718.

1 In this edition it is collated with a copy printed at the end of his "Tragedie of Cleopatra. Lond. 1607," 12mo.

Quoth he, So had I done full well,
Had I not seen fayre Dowsabell
Come forth to gather maye.

With that she gan to vaile her head,
Her cheeks were like the roses red,
But not a word she sayd:

With that the shepheard gan to frow
He threw his pretie pypes adowne,
And on the ground him layd.

Sayth she, I may not stay till ni
And leave my summer-hall undi
And all for long of thee.
My coate, sayth he, nor yet
Shall neither sheepe nor sher
Except thou favour mee.

Sayth she, Yet lever were
Then I should lose my m
And all for love of me
Sayth he, Yet are you
your heart you ca

If in

To love us now and




with thee,

e must I

rth; riously



ll name:

And I to thee will be thing conceiv'd,
As Colin was to Rothers' fame

Of curtesie the fmolest

Then will I be as

As ever mayden
Unto her para
With that she l

Downe by the
And him sh
With that the

Quoth he,

That ever


ad to beguile

of our life) our rest, up to toyle!





suppose report,

there were

would scorne to weare

in idle sport:


ke us

a better touch

our joy;

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f the noblest frame

les and dangers please; ake comfort in the same,

ch as you in ease:

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